Valentines Outtings
by WrtrGrl
Summary: Harry just wants Valentines Day to be over...but he's not the only one not feeling the festivity of the day. Pure fluff.


**Outed**

Valentines Day, Harry decided, spinning around and darting back the way he'd come before the gaggle of girls down the hallway spotted him, could go die.

For some irritating reason (probably because they enjoyed inflicting endless amounts of torture on all the seventh year males), Lavender and Parvati had taken it upon themselves to reboot the day as some sort of overbearing, stalkerish, festival. Or something.

All week, leading up to the stupid sodding day, they had sold flowers, and cards, and stupid scented candles, and love letters, and monogramed handkerchief's, and monogramed wand holders, and monogramed ink trays, and monogramed whatever else you could think of that wasn't even remotely romantic.

He'd done his best to ignore it all, but being that they had all but taken over the Common Room in order to conduct their scheming business plan, Harry had had little choice but to put up with the countless sidelong glances and curious whispers that followed him just about everywhere he went.

Then, of course, it came to the day itself. Finally, he thought, they could all exchange their stupid love sick letters and leave him in peace.

But no. No that hadn't happened. Instead, two dozen (or more), ostentatiously red (and he was a Gryffindor) envelopes landed on his breakfast plate by two dozen very disgruntled looking owls.

Ron's mouth fell upon at the sheer number of letters and Harry just stared in stunned silence, wondering when the hell the entire school had fallen in love with him.

He wondered if it would be rude to burn them all?

Hermione, late and grinning in amusement, had sat down saying, 'My, my, Harry. Aren't you popular. Any of those from a certain, charming boy?'

Ron threw Harry a sideways glance, trying and failing to hide his smirk, but Lavender—who had the unerring ability to hear gossip a mile away—spun in her seat with a shrill, 'Harry, are you gay?'

Horror filled Hermione's face—not nearly as much as Harry himself was feeling—and Ron just about spat his eggs over the table.

'I…er…'

 _Shit._

'No, no, no,' said Hermione, her voice panicked as she waved her hands and gave an awkward little laugh. 'Sorry. It was just a joke. Inside joke. Between me and Harry. It's uh, just a funny little misunderstanding we joke about. He's not gay…' Hermione stopped, biting the inside of her mouth and realising that she wasn't making this any better.

Of course, it was all over the school within the hour. Harry Potter was gay.

Ugh.

If he'd thought the attention from the girls was irritating, it was nothing compared to the boys. Apparently the boy-who-lived openly coming out of the closet had given everyone else courage enough to also come out. At least to come out to him.

He was trailed by whispered conversations worse than ever, but this time—accompanied by covetous glances and appreciative nods—it was more than he could bear.

Lunch came, and Harry bolted for the door of charms class, dying to get away from everyone—especially Hermione, who, although sincere, kept reminding him of the whole ordeal with her countless apologies. He could only take so much.

He trudged along the corridors, ducking out of sight of…well, everyone, until he came to an almost empty corridor.

Almost.

A lone figure stood leaning against the far wall, glaring at the ground and looking altogether very put out.

Harry paused, a soft, amused smile stretching across his face, and decided that maybe he wasn't the only one hating Valentines.

'Hey,' Harry said, and leaned against the wall next to Malfoy—who, although usually more aware of his surroundings—startled and swore.

'Jesus, Potter, are you trying to give me a heart attack?'

'No,' said Harry, grinning. 'Just saying hello.'

Malfoy's gaze, grey and irritated, flicked around the empty corridor, and settled back on Harry. 'Hello. Now go away.'

'That's not very nice,' said Harry still grinning at the surly expression on Malfoy's face. 'I heard something earlier. You mind find it interesting.'

'Oh?' came the completely uninterested reply.

'Andy Griffiths, he's a fifth year Ravenclaw, tripped over on his way to charms class. Apparently his shoe laces had been tied together.'

'How tragic,' drawled Malfoy, and pretended to study his nails.

'And Eric Danvers, sixth year Gryffindor, had his bag split open on his way to transfiguration, and his ink spilled all over his homework. He had to redo all his essays.'

' _Fascinating_.'

'Finally, poor Jeremy Gale, a soft spoken Hufflepuff—'

'Aren't they all?'

'—was ambushed by a suit of armour and had his nose broken.'

Malfoy's lip twitched, and Harry caught the flash of satisfaction that flickered in those cool blue depths before that bored facade flicked back into place.

'Riveting though this tale of woe is, I'm not sure what it has to do with me, Potter.'

'Don't call me that,' said Harry reflexively, 'And I just thought you might find it funny is all. They only had one thing in common.'

'I can't wait to find out what it was,' he said, rolling his eyes.

'They all asked me out, right before these _accidents_ happened.' Harry eyed Malfoy as he spoke, and noted the brief flash of guilt that tightened his mouth.

Then the arrogance was back, and he asked in feigned interest (that really wasn't feigned at all), 'Oh? Interested in any of them?'

'You know I'm not.'

'Well don't fret, Potter, I'm sure there's someone daft enough to be interested in you still,' said Malfoy, pushing off from the wall and crossing his arms.

'You know there is,' said Harry, turning to face him. He grinned, and took a step closer.

Malfoy's expression was all annoyed impatience—as if Harry were no more than an irritating pebble in his shoe—but his eyes gave him away. The way they softened, just so, as they fell on Harry's face.

'You know,' said Harry in a low voice, taking a step closer, breathing in that smell of lemons and coffee and old books, and feeling a jittery sort of exhilaration tingle through his palms as he stepped too close for friends, and far too close for casual acquaintances—let alone supposed rivals. 'You're kind of adorable when you're jealous.'

Draco scoffed, but stopped abruptly when Harry closed the distance and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, in that way he knew drove Draco crazy.

'Happy Valentines Day, Draco,' he murmured against soft lips, drawing a small hitch of breath out of the other boy.

Draco's gaze grew misty and ever so slightly smug. He leaned in, pressing even closer, hands uncrossed to slip around Harry's waist and yank him close. To hold him there. Firm and solid and dangerous and yet so surprisingly gentle.

The next kiss was anything but light. It was fire. Heavy and intoxicating. Drawing on the yearning within Harry. Making him hate these secret meetings and stollen kisses and yet long for them at the same time. At knowing that this was theirs and no one else's.

Draco pulled away. Rested his forehead against Harry's, their noses touching. His breath was warm and comforting, and Harry wanted to stay there, in that empty corridor, all day.

'You too,' Draco murmured, a lingering smile making his sharp featured face softer. Sweeter. And Harry knew that if they could just see him like this, see passed the mask, they might understand why Harry's heart thudded each time that molten gaze turned his way. Why his breath stopped, and his mind melted and he forgot the past, forgot everything except this feeling creeping along his spine. Filling him with stupid giddy delight.

'Just try not to injure them _too_ badly,' he said, looking at Draco with a half reproving, half amused smile.

Draco scoffed, that sharp eyed creature returning. 'I make no promises,' was the soft, slightly annoyed, slightly victorious retort. 'Just remember, Potter, you're mine.'

Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco's face softened again. 'Harry,' he amended, and leaned in to steal one last kiss. 'My Harry.'

Then he was gone and Harry was left standing in the corridor, dazed and full to bursting with barely concealed happiness. He grinned stupidly and decided that being outed on Valentines Day by his best friend, really wasn't as bad as he originally thought.


End file.
